


Just Another Reason to Hate the Rain

by a_case_for_wonder



Series: Royai Week 2020 [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Chronic Pain, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Royai Week 2020, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24642565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_case_for_wonder/pseuds/a_case_for_wonder
Summary: "Was there anything worse than rain in winter? The sheets were damp, too, with humidity or sweat, the weather or another round of nightmares, who could say. It was unpleasant. But the more pressing matter was the pain."Roy deals with the fallout of some of his heat of the moment battle strategies. Riza helps.Royai Week 2020 Day 3: Old Wounds
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Series: Royai Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785040
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	Just Another Reason to Hate the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun with this prompt. I really wanted to explore Roy having to deal with some of his injuries being more permanent in nature. Not as a moral punishment, but just because that's the way it usually works. Plus, I did some Roy looking after Riza for yesterday's prompt, so I thought I'd turn it around for today's.

Roy knew from the moment he woke that it would not be a good day. He hadn’t slept well all night. It had been raining for days in East City, a drippy, misty business that clung to the cold streets like condensed breath, leaving a persistent damp through seemingly every piece of clothing he owned. Was there anything worse than rain in winter? The sheets were damp, too, with humidity or sweat, the weather or another round of nightmares, who could say. It was unpleasant. But the more pressing matter was the pain. 

He’d never regretted the risks he took in cauterizing his own wound on the battlefield. But there was something to be said for proper medical care. Roy had stopped the bleeding, kept himself standing long enough to finish off Lust and get his team to safety. But it had been a botch job. The seared-over flesh had bled in internally for days. By the time his good Lieutenant had figured it out and hauled him to a doctor, the damage was done. 

He’d lived. But as in alchemy, nothing was without a cost. The muscles where they wrapped around his lower spine and left hip had healed twisted, lumpy and strange even beneath the scarred regrowth of his skin. 

He could walk unassisted, but there were days when it was a near thing. Days when it was all he could do just to sit with his back straight at his desk and make casual orders like there was nothing wrong. Days when it just _hurt._ He groaned softly as he forced himself out of bed and got ready for the day, leg already trembling slightly just with the effort of dressing. By the time he made it to the office, he was sweating beneath his uniform despite the cold. 

“Good morning, Colonel,” Hawkeye greeted him with a raised eyebrow and a stack of paperwork already two inches high. “Nice of you to finally join us.” 

Roy made his way as smoothly as possible to his desk, fighting back a sigh of relief as he relaxed into his chair as much as he dared. “I’m sure you had everything well in hand as always, Lieutenant,” he said. A flair of pain shot through his side as he extended his hand for the paperwork, and he smothered a flinch behind a sip of the coffee already waiting on his desk. Cold. He really was late. 

Hawkeye lingered a beat too long at his desk, watching him. A bead of cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck, slipping beneath his collar. “Of course, Sir,” she said eventually. 

Despite arriving late to it, Roy’s morning dragged by. He worked his way through the stack of paperwork from Hawkeye with as much diligence as he could muster, willing himself to ignore the steadily growing ache in his side, the persistent spit of the rain against the windows. He didn’t pay any attention to the time. He only knew it must be crawling. 

“...Boss. Colonel?” 

Roy jerked his head up to find Breda frowning lightly down at him, holding out a form. He blinked, trying to focus through the hot-cold feeling that had taken over his back. 

“Yes, Lieutenant?” Roy put down his pen to reach for the paper, squinting at it without seeing.

“It’s just the requisition forms you asked for, not Drachman code,” Breda joked. He faltered when Roy failed to laugh quickly enough. “Everything alright, boss? You haven’t made a single joke at Havoc’s expense yet today.” 

Havoc’s protest rang across the room, and Roy forced a weak smile. “If I did it all the time, he’d start to think I didn’t mean it. I’m well, Lieutenant. Back to work.” 

With that, Roy turned back to his own papers, and attempted to re-focus. His left hand was trembling. He wrapped it around his coffee mug, adjusted the papers for the hundredth time. He signed his name on… something. Hawkeye had given it to him, so he trusted it was up to muster. He just needed to get through a few more hours. 

“Colonel,” Hawkeye’s voice cut through the haze. She was standing in the center of the room, holding her clipboard and looking at him expectantly. “It’s time for that meeting, Sir.” 

Roy frowned. He didn’t remember scheduling a meeting. Then again, he was having trouble focusing. It was no surprise he’d forgotten. He bit back a groan at the prospect of sitting through hours of bureaucratic dithering, wearing the polite, charming face of the Flame Alchemist he’d cultivated so carefully all these years. He stood slowly, grabbed a few papers off the desk at random, and followed her out of the office. 

By the time he realized they weren’t headed toward one of Eastern Command’s meeting rooms, they were already at her car. “Lieutenant?” he questioned. Maybe it was a lunch meeting, something more political than military? 

“I’ll drive, it isn’t far” was all she said. 

Roy fell asleep less than five minutes down the road. 

He woke up as the car pulled to a stop in front of his own house. Hawkeye took her time getting the car situated and gathering up her things, only glancing over when she realized he was awake. He shook his head slowly, trying to clear it. 

“There was no meeting, was there?” he guessed. 

“Astute, Sir,” she said easily, already getting out of her seat and coming around to open his door. She held out her arm. “Come on, let’s get you inside. It won’t do your hip any good to keep sleeping in the car.” 

He could have argued - his pride wanted to - but he was _tired,_ and going toe to toe with Hawkeye took all his focus on his best days. He took her arm, this time not bothering to mask the way his face pinched as she helped him from the car. Her lips pursed, but her eyes were determined, not angry. They made their way to the house together. 

His sleep-fuzzed brain expected to be left there, dropped back at home like a cranky toddler who’d gotten up too soon from his nap. So he was surprised when she took off her coat, hanging it familiarly over the back of a chair. 

“Don’t you need to go back?” 

She shook her head, a knowing tilt at the corner of her mouth. “We’re in a meeting, remember, Sir? Neither of us will be expected back for several hours. Now come on.” 

She took him by the elbow and led him, not to his couch, but to his bed, sitting him down with an air of finality Roy rarely dared argue. He shrugged out of his damp jacket and pushed himself back until he was sitting up against the headboard. Hawkeye left as he was arranging pillows behind his back. He got the last of them settled and finally, finally, let himself relax back, letting out a long breath of relief. It still hurt, but in this position the pain was tolerable rather than all-consuming. 

Hawkeye arrived back in the room bearing two cups of tea. She’d taken her hair down; it fell loose to her shoulders, still crimped a bit from its clip, a rich gold in the lamplight. If he’d been any more out of it, he might have asked to touch it. Instead he simply watched her as she set one cup beside him wordlessly before making her way around the bed and setting the other on the opposite table. She gave him a considering once-over. 

“Would you like help with your boots, Sir?” 

He hadn’t taken them off, Roy realized. “No. I’ve got it. Just-” he started to reach for his feet, only to gasp slightly as a twinge shot up his side. 

She was there before he could get any further, calmly loosening the laces and tugging first his boots, then his damp socks off of his feet. Roy felt himself flushing. “You really don’t have to-” he started. 

“Honestly, Mustang.” She shook her head. Roy startled slightly; Hawkeye rarely addressed him so casually. She set the boots on the floor, threw the socks into his hamper, and retrieved her briefcase from where she’d set it by the door. “With all due respect, Sir, get over yourself. You have a _permanent injury._ You would have passed out in the middle of command if I hadn’t done something.” 

Her voice had risen slightly, with a tremble caught somewhere between anger and worry. She held up a hand to cut off his protest. “I’m not blaming you. You’re going to be in pain sometimes. It isn’t going to stop us, we just have to make adjustments.” Her voice softened. “I’m here to help, okay?” 

Roy swallowed. He wanted to come up with some witty response, but for once he had nothing. He nodded, clearing his throat as he reached for the tea. It smelled unfamiliar. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” 

She smiled, just slightly, nodding. Then she made her way to the unoccupied side of his bed, slipped off her own shoes, and climbed in, settling herself beside him like this was something they did every day. They weren’t touching, but there was something frighteningly intimate about it all the same. 

“The tea should help,” she said, quieter now, as though she felt the change in the atmosphere, too. “It’s a blend my mother used to make for her pain. It won’t make you woozy.” She knew why he avoided medication, even on days like this. 

Roy drank gratefully. The tea had a sharp, medicinal flavor, but she’d added plenty of sugar, and its heat was a comfort in itself against the damp and the season’s chill. Before long he found himself struggling to keep his eyes open. 

“Go ahead and rest,” she told him easily when she noticed. She’d taken a stack of papers out of her briefcase and begun to go through them, carefully filling out reports, transferring notes, and marking things that were in need of revision or refinement. 

“I can help,” Roy protested, reaching out feebly. She batted his hand away. 

“You’re bad enough with paperwork at your best, Sir. I won’t have you drooling on these forms.” 

The sharp words were warm with worn familiarity, her voice fonder than she let it be around the office. Somewhere in the back of his head, Roy wasn’t even surprised when she reached out and gently brushed a hand through his hair. He felt his eyes begin to drift shut at the touch. 

He caught her hand just as she pulled it back, enfolding it in his own. It was a good hand, his Lieutenant’s. He sighed, breath fanning out over her knuckles, before giving into impulse and pressing his mouth against the back, a brush of a kiss. He heard her breath catch, but she didn’t pull her hand away from his, even as he carefully laid the rest of the way down on the bed. He settled with a relieved sigh onto his back, their hands still interlaced between them. She gave his a brief squeeze.

“Go to sleep, Mustang. You can help me with the rest when you wake up.” 

“Is that an order, Lieutenant?” he asked sleepily, just to hear her laugh, and was pleased when she did. 

“Sure,” she said softly. “That’s an order, Sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Roy Mustang, known bastard: "Look! I've cauterized my giant, mortal wound! I have fixed the injury!" 
> 
> Me: You've certainly kept all the bleeding on the inside...
> 
> Thanks for reading! kudos/comments always appreciated, I'd love to know what you thought!


End file.
